Second Chance For Everything: Padawan Mine
by KatHarkness-Katara
Summary: Anakin changed everything. Now, he and Obi-Wan have another chance, to go back and try again. Obi-Wan arrives first. Still wrestling with the knowledge what his Padawan had become, he knows his best chance is to ally with his former Master, and become a Padawan himself once more. His second best chance is to leave the Order all together...
1. Prologue: Fire in the Night

**Prologue: The Fire in the Night**

"They really are amazing, aren't they?"

Obi-Wan watched Anakin stare at the party. The look on his face was one of complete adoration, a look Obi-Wan had only seen from his Padawan in the company of Padme Amidala previously. Now Anakin was directing the look at his children. The older Jedi smiled fondly.

He'd waited for so many years, hoping beyond reason and hating himself for it, and now here he was, standing with his Anakin again.

It was a pity they were both dead, but that was a minor detail.

"A large shift in the Force, there has been," Yoda announced.

"We know that, Master," Obi-Wan said, slightly testy. "No-one has ever escaped from the pull of the Dark Side before."

"And much that once could not be done, now possible, is," Yoda continued. "Things once dreamed of, now can come to pass."

"And is that the will of the Force?" Anakin asked, jaded and beaten down from years of suppressing his desires, either for the sake of the Jedi or by the Emperor's command.

"Young you are, and foolish I have been," Yoda admitted. "What has been, has been, but may yet now change."

Obi-Wan stared at the diminutive master, half-formed theories long discarded as not possible springing to mind. "What are you saying?"

"Another chance, given, may be," Yoda said. "Serve the Force, we have done, and no more can we do here. But serve again, elsewhere, you may yet." Yoda's sepulchral form started to fade. "Mistakes made, have been. Learn from them, we must. Fail, you must not."

"What did he mean, Obi-Wan?" Anakin asked, confused.

Obi-Wan looked over at Anakin. His Padawan had been his greatest pride and his greatest failure. He was a strong knight, a brilliant fighter, a loyal companion, and unfortunately an emotional mess. Obi-Wan had guided him into being an astounding knight, but a terrible Jedi. And worst of all, he'd given up Anakin for dead at the hands of Vader.

From what Yoda was implying, he might have a chance to redeem himself.

"Anakin…I know I don't have the right to ask this, but…will you trust me?"

* * *

Anakin tore his eyes from his son, his Luke, a bright beacon in the Force, and the more subtle hum of Leia, his daughter, who he'd _once tortured_. And the smuggler with an arm around his baby girl. Take a hike, Solo.

Obi-Wan was watching him, patient and sad and so worn down. They'd been together for thirteen years, and in that time they'd so rarely been completely and openly honest with each other. Maybe if they had been, it would have been different. "No, I don't trust you," Anakin said bluntly. "After everything…I want to, but I don't understand. Where did it all go wrong?" If anything of their friendship was to be salvaged, there would have to be no more lies, evasions or deceptions, just truth.

"I failed you, Anakin," Obi-Wan admitted. "We became attached to each other, and rather than confront the attachment, I chose to deny it. I blinded myself to our emotions and pushed you away when you needed my support. I know that you didn't completely trust me, and I know why; I never gave you any reason to believe I would help you against the Jedi Code. I am not…pleased with your relationship with Senator Amidala, but you should not have felt you had to hide it from me." The ghost sighed. "I can only ask that you forgive me my stiff-necked adherence to the Order's rulings where leniency should have been more appropriate."

Anakin mulled over Obi-Wan's words. He'd had twenty-five years to consider the issue – they both had – and inevitably there were similarities and differences in their conclusions. "I trusted the wrong person, put my pride above reason, and let my fear lead to destruction." He sank down on a fallen log, hugging his knees to his chest – a defensive posture his cyborg form had never allowed. "You know I know slavery from my childhood, but the Dark – you don't even realise how far you've gone, you can't see the chains because they're all in your mind. We talk about being instrument of the Force, but the Light cherishes us. The Dark consumes all that makes you you, until there's just a power-hungry shell. All I wanted was the power to save Padme, but when I got a taste of the power, I just wanted more."

Obi-Wan sat next to him. "But you gave it up. You came back."

" _He_ relaxed his hold on me to focus on Luke," Anakin whispered. "Luke was reaching out – to me, to Leia, maybe to you and Yoda. I'd lost everything to the Dark, except him. It was only that that freed me."

Obi-Wan was studying him closely. "Are you going to be at risk of slipping back into the Dark?" he asked frankly.

Anakin scoffed. "I'm dead, Obi-Wan. I can't do much of anything."

"Humour me?" the older Jedi asked.

"I will _never_ give myself over to the Dark Side," Anakin said vehemently. Then he deflated. "But I might…slip. From time to time. A little more each time…" he trailed off.

"Until you were back in its power," Obi-Wan whispered. "Would you trust me if I warned you of it?"

Anakin frowned. This line of questioning made no sense. Old paranoia, the belief that he was being played, rose in his chest. "Not if you're going to insist on keeping things from me," he growled.

Obi-Wan frowned, then blinked. "My apologies. I did not intend to appear so. There is a theory Qui-Gon and I discussed, and I was trying to determine if it was wise."

"What theory? I can't take any more deceptions or omissions."

"Of course, of course. I quite agree. We were discussing, and Master Yoda seems to think we now can achieve…time travel."


	2. Chapter 1: Arriving Again

**Chapter 1: Arriving Again**

Crackling lightening, screams, and a burst of light.

A swamp, hurt and confusion.

Denial, burning pain, an unnatural _absence_.

Biting cold, but _finally_ dropped defences.

Watching, waiting, _watching_.

Victory, pride, and the faintest tinge of guilty _relief_.

Cutting, _burning_ pain across the neck, bringing a slight success _finally_.

Arid heat, loneliness, and the most intense grief and betrayal imaginable.

Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.

Death, destruction, _the Force crying out-_

 **Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.**

Fighting, fighting, _so tired_ of the _endless fighting_.

 **Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.**

Pride and companionship, brief spikes of fear soon over.

 **Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.**

Bitter grief, put aside for the sake of the young one.

 **Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.**

Satisfaction and companionship, fear and confusion taking over then dismissed.

 **Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.**

Desperation and anger and sweet relief, a sense of safety.

 **Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.**

 _Reach for the desperation that came before the relief._

 **Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.**

 _Push away from that relief. Not yet; go further back._

 **Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.**

 **Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.**

 _Not_ _ **Mustafar**_ _, back, find that desperation._

 **Heartbreak, twirling sabers, smoke and rage and pain.**

 **Heartbreak.** _Desperation._

Twirling sabers. Step, parry, slash, step.

He knew this routine. This fight.

He ducked and parried and twisted the blows he knew were coming, dancing over the obstacles he knew were beneath his feet, landing hits he knew were his and avoiding lave he knew was flowing.

He knew this fight. He'd fought it in his dreams for years.

It had been so like and yet unlike the practise spars, with each of them knowing exactly what to expect, but now it was laced with fear, heartbreak, rage, grief, determination…so different from the almost playful fights.

There wasn't much beyond the clash of sabers, the hum of emotion-laden Force, and the back-of-the-mind awareness of heat and smoke and lava, uneven ground and collapsing structures.

Soresu kata five, then three, then eleven. Ataru six. Soresu nine, fourteen, Shien twelve, Soresu one, Makashi four, Soresu two, seven, ten. Mixing up styles, but never enough. They were perfectly matched, equals.

Until they weren't.

"It's over, Anakin. I have the high ground," he said, words and memories echoing each other. He _desperately_ wanted Anakin to yield this time.

But…the vision before him…was projected on the inside of his eyelids.

Obi-Wan Kenobi opened his eyes. He was being watched fearfully by a bunch of initiates, and with concern by two masters.

The lightsaber in his hand was his first, the one he'd lost on Naboo. His free hand touched his temple, where his braid should hang if he was a Padawan.

Nothing. He'd gone back enough. He'd succeeded.

Obi-Wan Kenobi felt a flash of triumph, and fainted.

* * *

"What did you say happened to him?" Garen Muln asked in an undertone.

"He just went into some sort of trance during saber class," Bant Erin replied. "He was fighting and moving over rough ground, but there wasn't anyone or anything there. He was projecting. Heat and smoke, a duel, an awful lot of pain deep down inside. It was awful. Then he said 'it's over Anakin, I have the ground', came out of it and passed out."

"Who's Anakin?" Reeft asked.

Obi-Wan decided it was time to let them know he'd awoken. He blinked his eyes open, sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Bant, Garen, Reeft," he said in greeting. "When is it?"

"About an hour before late meal," Bant answered. She laid a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Are you okay? The healer should be coming soon. You might be out in time to eat with us."

"That…would be great," Obi-Wan said absently, because it _would_ be great. But there were more important things to worry about, than him simply _enjoying_ being with his three best friends. Friends he'd seen die, lit the pyres, mourned.

No. Not this time. It would be better.

"Ah- what's the date?" he asked.

Garen frowned, and told him.

It was about a month before his mission to Bandomeer, where Qui-Gon took him as Padawan.

"You haven't lost that much time, Obi-Wan," Reeft said, trying to snap him out of the near-daze brought on by his astonishing success.

Master Healer Theela arrived. "Initiate Kenobi," she said brusquely "Care to explain what happened?"

Obi-Wan's mouth went dry. What could he possibly say? He and Anakin had agreed to keep the story to themselves, except for a few trusted people, for fear they'd be locked up as insane.

"I'm not sure," he said at last. "I don't remember clearly."

The healer frowned, but said nothing. Good. The vague plan wouldn't begin until he left the temple.

He had a month.

 **AN: Usually I update a whole bunch of stories at the same time, but I haven't anything else ready and I needed to publish _something_.**

 **Please leave a review on the way out.**

 **Katara**


	3. Chapter 2: Forgotten Nemesis

**Padawan Mine Chapter 2 Forgotten Nemesis**

"Obi-Wan…I don't mean to be greedy, but…"

Obi-Wan looked up at Reeft and smiled. "Whatever you like, Reeft," he said. He'd almost forgotten this little quirk of his friend's. "I'm not that hungry."

"You can't skip meals," Bant objected. "It's not good for you."

"I know, I'm just a little…unsettled," Obi-Wan smiled. He pushed his plate closer to Reeft.

"What _happened_?" Garen demanded. "Was it some sort of vision?"

"You…could say that," Obi-Wan murmured. He didn't want to lie to his friends, and he knew it would become obvious something had changed. He wanted to confide in them, to have their help with everything, to not have to hide things. But it was too early. He didn't even know if he'd succeed in becoming a Padawan yet. He shook his head. "Please give me a little time," he begged. "It's a bit overwhelming right now. Let me think about it."

"Is everything okay?" Bant asked anxiously.

Obi-Wan chuckled to himself. The Sith were still out there, the Jedi themselves had more than enough potentially fatal flaws, and there were more than enough petty evils out there. But the Temple was whole, and sang with the Living Force. He was surrounded by living, breathing _Jedi_ , and they had a chance. "It's more okay than you could believe," he murmured.

Bant frowned. "That doesn't make any-"

"Hey, Oafy-One!"

Obi-Wan froze. He hadn't _forgotten_ his childhood rival as such, but it hadn't quite registered that Bruck would be around from the beginning. He'd spent so much of his early years caught up in their enmity, but the sheer pettiness had been forgotten.

Bruck had been his rival for Qui-Gon's apprenticeship, and had fallen to the Dark, and died in combat with Obi-Wan himself. Obi-Wan had tried and failed to save him, and then been investigated for his murder. He'd hoped to save Bruck this time, but…he wasn't quite ready.

However, he couldn't avoid the confrontation now Bruck sought it. He turned to the other Initiate. "Bruck," he said politely, and after a moment remembered the name of Bruck's friend. "Aalto. How may I help you?"

"Help us?" Bruck echoed, incredulous. "After your little turn in the salles, do you think you can do anything to help anyone? _You're_ the one who needs help."

Obi-Wan considered him for just long enough to unsettle Bruck before falling back on disarming honesty. "There was a time I would have disagreed with you there," he said mildly. "But you just so happen to be right. I suppose I do need help. We _all_ need help with something. That's what makes us human." He tilted his head towards his friends. "Or Mon Calamari. Or Dressellian."

Bruck scoffed. "Don't you sound wise, Oafy-One?" he mocked.

Obi-Wan smiled. After nearly twenty years of exile meditating on the Force, he was entitled to a little wisdom. But he could hardly own to it. "I do try to learn from Master Yoda," he commented. "And, seeing as we all know 'do or do not; there is not try', I guess I do."

Bruck appeared to be trying to recover his jaw from the floor. Obi-Wan waited, just a little curious as to his next move.

"You must be desperate, if you're parroting the Masters, you little suck-up," Bruck sneered at last. "It doesn't impress anyone." With that, he flounced off.

Obi-Wan stared after him. Bruck would not make a good Jedi. He was angry, impatient, impulsive and selfish. He'd revelled in the power of the Dark Side. And yet it was his rejection from the ranks of the Padawans and Knights that left him prey to the Dark Jedi Xanatos.

Bant nudged him, jarring him out of his thoughts. "Well, _I'm_ impressed," she said. "What _was_ that? I've never seen you so calm. Especially around Bruck."

"You've changed," Garen added. Reeft nodded, mouth full again.

Obi-Wan sighed. "As I said, please give me time," he pleaded. "I do not wish to deceive you, but neither can I explain myself yet."

Bant laid a hand on his shoulder. "We're here for you. Whenever you're ready. We just want to help you."

Obi-Wan smiled and stood. He switched his mostly-full plate with Reeft's. "Thank you, Bant, I appreciate it. But if you'll excuse me, I'd quite like to return to the training salle."

Obi-Wan nodded to the various Initiates, Padawans, Knights and Masters he passed before shutting himself in one of the rooms and beginning his katas. He was one of the best duellists in his day, with some small proficiency on each of the seven forms, although he wasn't _that_ good at Niman or Juyo, forms VI and VII.

This run-through of all the katas he knew was a standard for his years in exile, and though the muscle memory was gone, he still found it easy to let his ams and legs step through the routines while he thought.

He had a month before Qui-Gon would either accept or reject him. A month to work out a strategy, to plot contingencies, to decide what to do. It seemed like a lot of time only a few hours ago, but if he'd neglected to consider Bruck, what else had he forgotten?

There were tricks to aid recall. He'd just have to remember _everything_ , write it down, and plan from there. And that would have to be before he left the Tempe, did something foolish, and got himself killed.

Dying now would be worse than useless.

Especially with Anakin on his way…


	4. Chapter 3: The Master

**Padawan Mine Chapter 3 The Master**

It might have been after lights-out by the time Obi-Wan left the salle; he wasn't sure. It was quiet, at least, so he would be unlikely to be waylaid on the way to his room. The room he…didn't really remember.

"Out late, you are, young one."

Obi-Wan spun, starting, to see Yoda standing in the shadows. The master Jedi looked so…so…young, vital, _alive_. "Master?"

"A half hour past, was lights-out," Yoda chided.

"My apologies, master." Obi-Wan bowed slightly. "I lost track of the time."

"Hmm." Yoda stumped forward, and Obi-Wan waited patiently, then knelt of his own accord to be on the same level, before Yoda could whack his knees with his stick. "Much you have changed, and in not much time," Yoda observed. "Why is this, hmm?"

Obi-Wan didn't answer. He wanted to tell Yoda everything; Yoda would be one of the best people to help him. Even Anakin had agreed – _eventually_ – that the Council should know. But this was still too overwhelming, and Obi-Wan had no idea how to begin. He needed more time. "Forgive me, master," he said at last. "I'm not ready."

"Not ready. Hmm." Yoda scrutinized the young Initiate. "And when, ready, will you be?"

"I don't know, master," Obi-Wan admitted. "I'm sorry."

"Troubled, you are?"

"Very, master." Yoda kept up the unrelenting gaze, and Obi-Wan had to resist squirming where he knelt. Perhaps…if he gave Yoda something, the master would be…content, maybe, or satisfied. And if he acted, Obi-Wan would know if he could rely on Yoda to help him, and may give him one less problem. "Master? I'm…concerned about one of my fellow Initiates."

"Are you?" Yoda mused. He stared for a minute, then hummed. "Come. Meditate with me, you will, and your concerns, we shall explore."

Obi-Wan rose and followed Yoda to his favourite meditation room, kneeling once more in the gloom and reaching out for the Force. He released his confusion and weariness and deep seated grief, and focused on the problem at hand.

"It's Bruck Chun," he started. "He thinks he deserves a lot of things, and gets angry if he thinks he's being denied. That can lead to him becoming deceptive and cruel. He'll do whatever he thinks it takes to get what he thinks he deserves."

"And come into conflict with him, you have," Yoda observed. "Tell me this to punish him, do you?"

"What?" Obi-Wan yelped. " _No_ , I wouldn't- I'm not- I'm _worried_ about him, master."

Yoda nodded. " _Good_ ," he approved. "But this concern, new, it is."

"It is, master," Obi-Wan acknowledged. "But that does not make it less pressing."

"But what do you want to be done, hmm?"

Obi-Wan shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, master. I don't have an answer."

"Remove him from the Initiate Program, maybe? Send him to the Agricultural Corps?" Yoda suggested.

Obi-Wan frowned. Last time, Bruck had never been chosen to be a Padawan, and this rejection had driven him to accept Xanatos' Dark training. "He feels he ought to be, that he _deserves_ to be, a Jedi," he mused. "Depriving him of that may drive him to desperate acts. He'd hardly be the first to turn to the Dark for what he feels the Light cannot give him-"

"Likely, you think this is?" Yoda interrupted.

Obi-Wan laughed hollowly. His own apprentice had turned to the Dark; he knew all too keenly how easy it was. "We all have to fight the darkness in ourselves every day," he said instead.

Yoda did not respond for so long Obi-Wan found himself growing nervous. "Much changed, yes," he said at last. "Much changed, indeed."

"I'm sorry, master."

"Hmm." Obi-Wan bore the contemplative stare anxiously, but with ease. All the years on Tattooine, waiting, waiting, endlessly waiting, had given him an appreciation of stillness and patience he wouldn't have believed possible in his youth. "Old, you seem," Yoda decided at last. "Wise, you try to be. And explain it, you do not. Not yet, but you will. Yes, in time."

"I will," Obi-Wan promised. "Please be patient with me."

"Let the Force guide you," Yoda counselled. "Do not let fear consume you."

"I'm trying, master, but there's so much at stake," Obi-Wan sagged where he knelt. "We're so powerful, we Jedi…but I fear we have lost our way."

"Think you know _everything_ , young one?" Yoda asked sharply.

Obi-Wan hung his head. The Jedi had become almost arrogant, letting themselves be used as the Senate's flunkies and pretending thay were above such petty things as _emotion_. Sidious may have destroyed the Order, but they hadn't made it hard for him.

But here he was, a twelve-year-old Initiate, telling the Grand Master of the Jedi Order he was wrong.

"My deepest apologies, master. I forgot my place."

Yoda sighed deeply. "And yet, speak most plainly, you do, when your place, you forget. Meditate on all this I shall."

"Thank you." Obi-Wan rose. "Please excuse me; it is late, and I have classes in the morning."

"Go, Initiate," Yoda nodded. "Rest. Speak on this again, we will, perhaps."

Obi-Wan bowed, and left. He wound his way through the dark corridors, straining his mind to remember his old quarters from over forty years ago. Hopefully he'd have time to think during class tomorrow.

…what classes had he even been taking?


	5. Chapter 4: Memory Lane

**Padawan Mine Chapter 4 Memory Lane**

Obi-Wan had left the Temple for his first mission four weeks before his thirteenth birthday. He had been assigned to the Agricultural Corps and sent to the planet Bandomeer. But before he even reached his destination, he had attracted trouble in the form of the machinations of an amoral Hutt businessman and his flunkies, an attack by Togorain pirates, and a crash landing on a planet populated by carnivorous, though non-sentient, draigons. He'd nearly died at least three times.

Unfortunately, the exact details had become lost in his memory over the years. Of course he knew all the tricks he could need to trigger recall, but why memorize that mission over Naboo, or Geonosis, or all the Council briefings? And there were dozens of missions in his career, Bandomeer to Utapau, every single one of which he knew needed to examine and analyse. Some things he should let happen. The fate of a tiny mining planet was galactically insignificant, _but it was important_. Small problems become big ones. Centuries of ineffective regulation of the business guilds had led to the Trade Federation's blockade of Naboo, and the whole Separatist mess. And even if there were no ramifications, no knock-on effects, no planet or settlement should suffer just for being small and having no clout.

Obi-Wan didn't go to bed. He knelt next to the sleep couch and sank into a meditative trance, reaching into his memories. He remembered the training session he and Bruck had had with Yoda the day before they duelled for Qui-Gon. As he ran through it all, he let his hand dance over a datapad he'd set on his knee, recording everything they did, they said. He related the trap Bruck set for him, making it look like Obi-Wan beat him up in order to get Obi-Wan assigned to the AgriCorps prematurely.

And so on. Obi-Wan fast-forwarded through weeks, months of his life, his hand starting to ache from writer's cramp. He released the pain into the Force and kept going.

"Obi-Wan!"

He jerked, blinking hard as he came out of his memory trance. "Bant?"

"Come _on_ , or we'll miss breakfast," the Mon Calamari urged. "What were you doing?"

"Meditating," Obi-Wan replied. He rose and stretched out. He shrugged on his outer cloak and automatically called his saber to him and hooked it on his belt. "Thank you for coming for me."

"Of course I came," Bant said, ever so slightly huffing.

Obi-Wan smiled fondly. Naturally he and Bant had grown apart as they grew up, and while he'd _adored_ Qui-Gon and Anakin, he'd loved the simpler, more innocent times with Bant, Garen and Reeft. And it was entirely possible he'd never thanked them for their friendship. He basked in her presence as they hurried towards the dining hall.

"Still shook up by that vision, or whatever?" Bant asked.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I'll always be affected by it," he told per. "I…I saw things, you could say. That's changed me, and I can't go back to how I used to be."

And that was true, more true than she'd ever understand. He couldn't go back to Initiate Kenobi, the innocent child whose greatest concern was attracting a Master. He couldn't be Padawan Kenobi, convinced there was no problem the Jedi could not overcome and obsessed with proving himself worthy. He couldn't be Knight Kenobi, whose life was raising the boy in his charge, teaching him to be the Jedi Qui-Gon would have been proud of. Nor could he be General Kenobi, who fought and fought and clung to the certainty that they were _right_ , or Master Kenobi of the Jedi Council, making decisions for millions. And he couldn't even be Ben the hermit, always grieving that his Anakin was beyond help, that everything he'd done had come to failure. He'd lost the innocence of youth, the confidence in the Jedi, the faith in dogmatic teachings, the arrogance of self-righteousness, and even the despair of hopelessness. He'd changed, and he couldn't go back.

"Are you ready to talk about what changed you?"

Bant's question grounded Obi-Wan, and he evaluated her. How could she believe his story? An even if she did, how could he expect her to deal with the knowledge of the Order's total annihilation? He'd only just got back to her; could he really repel her so quickly? "No, I'm not ready," he decided.

"I'm here for you when you are," the pink Mon Calamari sighed.

Obi-Wan patted her arm. "I know. Thank you. Truly, I appreciate your support beyond words." He paused. "Ah, there is something you can help me with," he said sheepishly.

"Anything," Bant smiled.

"I've…completely forgotten my classes and assignments," he admitted. "Could you…jog my memory?"

"You've forgotten _everything_?" Bant asked, surprised.

"Not _everything_ , just…things," Obi-Wan said helplessly.

Bant sighed. "Mathematics, Culture Studies, Lightsaber practise, and Principles of the Unifying Force," she reeled off. "But you're meant to be giving a presentation on a cultural aspect from a system in the Chommell sector."

"Oh." Obi-Wan didn't remember that _at all_ , but…

Chommell Sector. Home of the Naboo System. Padme's home. He didn't know Padme as well as Anakin (but then, _he_ didn't marry her), but he had certainly learned enough about the customs of the Naboo royalty to give a twenty-minute, off-the-cuff presentation.

He nodded. "I think I can manage that. Thanks for the warning."

"Obi-Wan…" There was a flash of concern in the Force as Bant frowned. "You're so different. It's scaring me."

Obi-Wan laid a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to."

Bant sighed. "You never mean to when things go wrong."

"I know; but we do the best with what happens."

Because doing the best is all you can do. He'd known that long before the Order fell.


	6. Chapter 5: Starting to Plot

**Padawan Mine Chapter 5 Starting to Plot**

Bant, Garen and Reeft seemed to be rather carefully avoiding the previous day. Garen was also giving a Culture Studies presentation, his on the honour code of Mandalore. That should be interesting, but Obi-Wan's memories of the planet were forever tainted by those of Satine Kryze, who he'd once loved. He'd put the memory of her to rest years ago, but it was still a sting. Maybe this time she'd live, rather than being murdered during a Galactic war.

So he smiled, and ate, and tried to keep Reeft from eating all his breakfast. He wouldn't meet Satine for nearly six years; it was futile to dwell on her now. Instead he skimmed over the notes he'd made last night, considering his options. If he was denied apprenticeship and permanently assigned to the Agri Corps, it would be difficult if not impossible to help shape the galaxy. If he turned thirteen and had no master, he would have to leave the Jedi Order. Running solo would be difficult at his age, despite his knowledge, and it would break his heart, but it would be the only option.

But what if Qui-Gonn _did_ take him on? He couldn't imagine keeping something this big from him – it was hard enough around Bant, Garen and Reeft. He'd bring Qui-Gonn into his confidence. No, wait. That wouldn't be fair. It would be deceptive. He'd tell Qui-Gonn first. When Qui-Gonn returned to the Temple, he'd hunt him down, offer him tea, and…

Be sent to the mind healers. Hmm.

Okay, so, first he'd have to earn Qui-Gonn's trust, while subtly indicating there was something more to know. Qui-Gonn's insatiable curiosity would push him to learn more, and there'd be plenty of evidence to support at least some of his story.

Let's see…Qui-Gonn had first seen him when he and Bruck had duelled in an attempt to impress the master into choosing one of them – a futile attempt; Qui-Gonn had been too afraid of another Xanatos-like betrayal to take another Padawan. The path of least resistance would be to let the duel go ahead. How would he attract Qui-Gonn's curiosity? By…fighting as best he could. Which wouldn't be fair on Bruck in the slightest. Masters learned how to push Padawans without humiliating them, but even that would seriously embarrass the already volatile Initiate. It wouldn't be right. So what should he do instead? Hmm…

It might be his only chance to get Qui-Gonn to listen to him. His only chance to-

He shuddered as his memory replayed the dreadful sight of Darth Maul's lightsaber impaling his beloved Master.

"You okay, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Garen was looking at him, concerned. He breather, releasing the sickening knot of grief into the Force. "Just a bad memory."

"From your…vision?"

"Close enough. Sorry, I just-"

"Who's Anakin?"

Obi-Wan looked around at a smirking Bruck. "Excuse me?"

"Anakin," Bruck repeated. "ʻIt's over Anakin, I have the high ground.ʼ Who is Anakin? Must be a pretty bad fighter if he let _you_ get the high ground on him."

Memories flashed before Obi-Wan's eyes. Anakin had had terrible difficulty settling in among the Jedi, the Initiates and other new Padawans mocking his lack of dexterity in meditation and Force manipulation, laughing at his ignorance of things he never had a chance to learn, and belittling his every accomplishment. It had taken months for Anakin to make friends with his peers, and Obi-Wan had lost count of the masters he'd spoken to about their charges. The worst had been the handful who were convinced the ʻteasingʼ would ʻbuild characterʼ. Some of those discussions may have verged on arguments. And here was another stuck-up, self-obsessed _imbecile_ who thought-

He'd slammed Bruck into the table, snarling in his face before he'd even noticed he was doing it. "Don't you _dare_ say that about-"

He remembered himself and stepped back, releasing Bruck, the words ʻmy Padawanʼ dying in his throat.

"My apologies, Bruck, that was out of line." He released the burst of over-protective anger into the Force. "I seem to be rather stressed right now, but that's no excuse. I really am sorry."

"What the hell are you playing at?" Bruck spat, pushing himself up. "You're crazy."

Obi-Wan breathed carefully. He wasn't feeling too steady, but he had to remain in control. He was, had been, a Master of the Council. He just had to stay calm, keep focused, and he'd be able to deal with it. "I'm trying not to make any more of a mistake."

There was a distinct wood-on-stone tap. Yoda came into the room, hobbling on his stick. "Initiates," the master called out.

"Good morning, Master Yoda," all the Initiates chorused. Obi-Wan and Bruck the only two standing up in the centre of everyone's attention, bowed respectfully.

"Initiate Kenobi, to the mind healer, go, you will," Yoda instructed. "Initiate Chun, with me, come. Initiates, about your classes."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said, and Bruck echoed him before moving off after Yoda – but first he gave Obi-Wan a smug, superior look.

Obi-Wan sighed. "Reeft, you can finish my breakfast," he said wearily. "I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

He left in silence, tapping his datapad against his leg. He really didn't want to see the mind healer. What could he _say_?

He wasn't ready. Not that it mattered.

This could seriously disrupt his neophyte plan.


End file.
